Fear the Unknown
by Dante de Troy
Summary: In a world where magic is outlawed and those with power are hunted as devilspawn, the men and women who would make a difference must hide in shadow and mystery. Chapter 18 is here at last!
1. Brave, not Bold

Fear the Unknown  
  
Chapter 1: Brave, not Bold  
  
(Disclaimer: all characters are copyrights of DC Comics, a division of AOL- Time Warner. I don't own any of this stuff, sadly.)  
  
Los Angeles, CA  
  
In a city like Los Angeles, there is always noise in the background of life. Cars, radios, people bustling about in the streets, in lobbies, in the hallways outside of apartments. That noise becomes a background buzz, something blocked out during normal times, but missed when it is absent, like an old blanket. Sometimes, though, that noise can mask something out of the ordinary, something. ominous.  
  
Peter Langford was one of hundreds of thousands of people across the country that loved the show "Friends". Being a Thursday night, like the rest of his kind, he was firmly entrenched in front of his television set. So engrossed was he in the show that he didn't hear the oh-so-soft sound of the fifty year old lock on his door being forced open. Peter Langford worked for the district attorney's office, and he was quite an ambitious man. So ambitious that he opened old unsolved case files from the police archives and tried to see if he could solve them. He even went so far as to make his own phone calls. However, he failed to take into consideration that for every unsolved case, there is an un-convicted criminal. When he opened the five year old case on the Darren Hawtley murder, he had made some phone calls. He'd questioned some of Hawtley's acquaintances, even talked his old girlfriend into revealing that Hawtley occasionally took book on horse racing. Unfortunately for Peter Langford, word was out that he was close to solving the Hawtley murder. The man at his door was determined to see that this did not happen.  
  
Peter stretched as the show went to commercial, taking a deep breath as he did. That breath was then firmly wrenched from him as two strong hands latched around his throat and dragged him up over the back of his recliner. Working late hours meant that Peter hadn't been to the gym in quite some time, and he offered little real resistance to his burly assailant. He was dragged across the room and only managed to breath again when the arms released him, throwing him through the large plate glass window.  
  
Peter made no sound as he fell, as he had been rendered unconscious by the throttling hands. In his state, he never felt the sudden jolt as his body was caught in a sudden freak whirlwind of air, which lowered him slowly to the ground. In the empty street below, a blonde-haired man in a black trench coat put two fingers to Peter's neck, feeling the pulse there. Satisfied, he moved the man from the street and rested him against the building wall.  
  
In the apartment above, "Burly" Billy Warren was looking out the shattered window in shock. The lights were out in the apartment, so his silhouette was not visible against the window. Billy turned in shock when he heard a voice from behind him.  
  
"That wasn't smart, Billy."  
  
A slim man in a black trench coat was standing before him, his face concealed in the darkness.  
  
"They would've worked it out, you know. Langford's secretary knew what he was working on. Then it would have been linked to the Hawtley case. Either way. you're going to prison."  
  
Warren was clutching the wall for dear life, looking at the man in abject fear as his right hand began to glow with a green light.  
  
"I know what you are! You're an agent of Satan! A warlock!"  
  
"No, Billy. I'm no warlock. I'm something far more dangerous." A beam of emerald energy shot from his hand and pierced Billy's skull, and the man stood open-mouthed before the window. "You're going to forget you saw me Billy. When you wake up, the police will be here. Good night." He dropped his hand and Billy dropped face-first to the floor.  
  
There was a brief rush of air behind him and another voice.  
  
"So? We done here?"  
  
"Is Langford all right?"  
  
"Yeah. Cushioned his fall with a wind-tunnel. Can we go now? I'm hungry."  
  
"You're always hungry."  
  
"Yeah, well, that's the way it works."  
  
"Sure. Let's go."  
  
The two men took the elevator and walked out the back door of the apartment building, barely noticing the sirens that were approaching from the distance. They'd done what they came to do, and had left no trace. Security cameras were wiped, and no witnesses. They could live another day, make another dollar, and lead their lives. As long as no one knew. They both knew what happened to those caught using "Satan's power". They had always known, as everyone did. The stake. It had been that way since the first great Tribulation at Salem. They were no witches, but that wouldn't matter. Barry Allen and Hal Jordan could burn like anyone else.  
  
(to be continued.) 


	2. Truth and Perception

Fear the Unknown  
  
Chapter 2: Truth and Perception  
  
(Disclaimer: all characters are copyrights of DC Comics, a division of AOL- Time Warner. I don't own any of this stuff, sadly.)  
  
Salem, Massachusetts  
  
June, 1692  
  
It was a cool morning, despite the time of year, when William Phipps, governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony stepped from his carriage and into the streets of Salem. Things that he'd seen confirmed the terrible things he had heard of the city's activities, and a deep chill ran through his heart as he saw the frightened looks in the eyes of the citizenry.  
  
People should not fear me, Phipps thought to himself. They should respect me. They should respect authority, not quiver in fear of persecution. But Phipps' authority was no longer the law in Salem. Since the terrible events that had led to the hanging of 18 of Salem's citizens, things had become untenable. A new voice had risen in city politics, Reverend Dominic Bliss. Reverend Bliss had claimed that waiting for witches to be denounced was not enough. They could, he had claimed; overpower the mind of a pure- hearted person, protecting their own identities. The community must, by necessity, he claimed, root them out, hunt them down, and destroy them. It seemed that any who might have questioned Bliss were witches themselves, men and women with strange abilities, and they had been "purified" at the stake.  
  
"Governor Phipps. I was wondering when you would show your face in Salem."  
  
Phipps turned slowly to face the one man in Salem who might dare address him in such a manner.  
  
"Reverend Bliss. You have been quite a busy man, sir."  
  
"The pursuit of purity is a mighty task, Governor."  
  
"So long as one does not lose sight of truth, Reverend."  
  
Bliss steepled his fingers and was, by appearances, the picture of the saintly preacher.  
  
"Truth. Governor, truth is what we make it. Perception is nine tenths of reality. What people perceive to be the truth will be the truth."  
  
"People must be led to the truth by wisdom, I've always thought, not their own flawed perceptions."  
  
"And what does your 'wisdom' tell you about what I've accomplished here?"  
  
"I have my questions, Reverend. I will seek my answers, and in doing so, I shall find the truth."  
  
Phipps turned from Bliss and began to walk away, when the voice from behind him chilled him to the bone.  
  
"Be careful, Governor. Salem is a town wrought with peril. I should hate to see anything unfortunate occur during your visit here."  
  
TWO DAYS LATER  
  
"Let us pray."  
  
Bliss watched as his congregation rose, and concealed the smile that he could not show.  
  
"This day has brought us great tragedy. Not content to see their numbers culled by righteous justice, the minions of Satan have stolen from us a great man and a great leader in Governor William Phipps. As befits them, they attacked him at night, under the evil moon which they call Mother. Governor Phipps was a righteous man, a just man, and a seeker of truth."  
  
Bliss bore down on the people with his burning eyes, which seemed to pierce the very depths of their souls.  
  
"I swear to you this day, my flock, that we shall not rest while darkness runs free in this great land. Across the sea, evil brings fear to the righteous, but not here! Here in this great land of ours, we shall cut out the vile filth that taints our holy blood and start anew! We have taken the first steps, right here in Salem, to building a better world, a world free of darkness and magic and unholy power. What has begun here shall spread before us, and as the hand of God, we shall reign fire on his enemies until all have bowed down before his glory!"  
  
He was almost fevered now, but he calmed and regained his composure.  
  
"That path is set, my flock, and we shall stay the course. For it is this course which leads to life everlasting."  
  
Deep inside Dominic Bliss, a dark voice cackled with joy. It had won. 


	3. Those Who Believe

Fear the Unknown  
  
Chapter 3: Those who believe.  
  
Smallville, Kansas - 1967  
  
"Thank you, Jonathan. Your contribution is always greatly appreciated."  
  
The Reverend Mr. Richard Reynolds tipped his black felt hat and flashed a toothy grin at the couple, then turned to walk away. "Always happy to give, Mr. Reynolds." Jonathan Kent slowly closed the door of his farmhouse and let the cheery smile evaporate from his face. The broad shouldered farmer gripped the doorframe tightly until he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Take it easy, Jonathan. You don't want to get upset." "I hate this, Martha! I can't stand those men and their pasted on smiles and their sanctimonious preaching and. and." With a snarl, Jonathan twisted his body around and hammered his balled fist against the oaken door, sending a jolt back into his arm and a wet crunching sound into his ears. "Well. Now you've gone and done it, haven't you?" Jonathan tried briefly to flex the hand, but his face twisted in pain. "Yeah, I guess I have." "Go put it on some ice. We'll wait a bit, then I'll drive you in to see Doc Harper." Jonathan had his hand wrapped in a thin cast as, several hours later, the battered Kent pickup made it's way down old 68 highway toward the farm. Suddenly, without warning, the truck was jolted off to the side of the road as the concussion from a massive impact struck it. In the field nearby, Jon what appeared to be a deep furrow that had crossed the road just in front of them. Several hundred yards off to their left, the furrow stopped in the cornfield. "Good Lord! Come on!" Jonathan jumped from the truck and, after helping Martha out, ran at a full sprint to where the furrow stopped. At the very end of the furrow was what appeared to be a craft of some sort, egg shaped and smooth, glossy black. When Jon put a hand out to touch it, it split open, the sides flowing away to reveal its contents.  
  
Within was a small child, peering up at them.  
  
"Jon, it's. a baby."  
  
"Stay back, Martha, we don't know where it came from or what it is."  
  
"Jonathan Kent! You have eyes, you can see perfectly clear what it is." She reached into the padded contours of the craft and pulled the child free.  
  
"We'll call him Clark."  
  
Metropolis - Present Day  
  
The skies were blue over the city of Metropolis. The yellow disk of the afternoon sun shone brightly against the white facades of the city's buildings. The skyline was visible for miles around, as was one of its most famous landmarks, the Daily Planet. The motto of the newspaper was chiseled in the marble surrounding the main entrance.  
  
"Serving the Truth for over one-hundred years."  
  
In the offices atop the building, Perry White glared across his desk.  
  
"What is this trash?"  
  
"Chief, I don't understand."  
  
"Look Olsen, just because you're a pretty face and your mommy happened to know someone in the business office doesn't mean I'm going to tolerate this kind of low-level tabloid trash coming into my office. What is this?" He reached down to the copy on his desk. "'Prosecutor saved by miracle wind'? 'Emerald glow prevents train wreck'? If I didn't know better, son, I'd say you were possessed by some demon."  
  
The look of utter terror on Olsen's face shocked White.  
  
"Don't even suggest that, sir! How can you say such a thing? You know that just by suggesting that, you could get me up before the Inquisition?"  
  
"Look, kid. How about you stick to reporting real news and let the canons handle the fright stories?"  
  
"I'm sorry, sir. I'll get something better, I will."  
  
"Good, and get it by nine, I'm on a deadline."  
  
Olsen scurried out of White's office, and the editor-in-chief breathed out a heavy sigh. Standing, he walked to the window and looked out. It was becoming harder and harder to conceal the activity of those who had special abilities. It was as if the world itself was rebelling against their suppression, trying to draw them into the open. Perry had often wondered what the world might be like if men like Barry and Hal were free to use their gifts. Every day he lived in fear that he would be found out, that the powers that be would discover that he had been covering up evidence of superhuman activity since had had been working for the Daily Star, years ago. He couldn't help it, though. He knew that something was wrong in the world, and that these people were the answer to it. They just needed a sign, something to inspire them, something to give the people hope. The world didn't just need people with power. It needed a hero.  
  
Perry jolted at the sound of a rapping at his door.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Perry, some guy just walked in asking if he could get a meeting with you. Says his name's Kent."  
  
"The Newstime writer?"  
  
"He's that Kent? What's he doing here?"  
  
"Send him in, let's find out."  
  
Perry was momentarily started at the sheer size of the man who walked through his door. Clark Kent easily stood a head and a half over Perry, and he wasn't a small man. The conservative coat and tie that the clean- cut man wore barely concealed the bulging frame beneath.  
  
"What can we do for you, Kent?"  
  
"If I could just have a moment of your time, sir, I'd be very grateful."  
  
"My time's pretty valuable son. Better make it good."  
  
Clark shut the door behind him.  
  
"You know that I've been with Newstime for the past several years."  
  
"Yeah, that I do. Go on."  
  
"I even applied here when I first moved to Metropolis, though I doubt you'd remember."  
  
"Not really, no."  
  
"Well, I was hoping that maybe I could convince you to give me a second chance."  
  
Perry sat for a moment, looking over the young man in the chair before him. Something wasn't quite right about this man.  
  
"Now, tell me something, Kent. From what I hear, you're a pretty fair reporter. I know that Lois is constantly complaining that you seem to get to a lot of things before she does. You've made a pretty good name for yourself at Newstime. Why switch horses?"  
  
Clark looked down for a moment, collecting his thoughts.  
  
"Mr. White. we all know that the world is the way it is, and that it's probably not going to change any time soon."  
  
"Well, I can't say that I disagree, but what's that have to do with anything?"  
  
"If you'll let me finish, sir. The world isn't going to change, but that doesn't mean that it's right. We both know that there are things that go on every day that are beyond most people's comprehension. That there are those out there who are. special."  
  
Perry's heart began to race. If this man was going to attempt to blackmail him.  
  
"And just as there are those who would like to see these people torn down, there are others who know what they're trying to do. There are those who say that you're one of the latter."  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about, Kent. Now, I'm a busy man."  
  
"All right then, Mr. White. I understand." Clark stood and reached out to shake Perry's hand. "Barry says to say hello to Alice for him."  
  
Perry's eyes went wide and he looked into Kent's eyes for the first time. The earnest face smiled back at him and nodded.  
  
"I'll tell you what, Kent. Why don't you go ahead and post notice with Colin Thornton. I think that you'd fit in well here. We could use a man like you."  
  
"I won't forget it, Mr. White. Thank you."  
  
Clark walked out of the Daily Planet building with a smile on his face. He waved to the two men waiting in the diner across the street. They waved back and he joined them quickly.  
  
"So, how'd it go?"  
  
"I ended up dropping your name, Bar, but it went well."  
  
"Perry White's a good man, no two ways about it."  
  
"So, what now?"  
  
"Well, the MPD is reviewing my request to transfer, and Hal, well, why don't you tell him, buddy."  
  
"It seems that the renowned LexAir military division has quite a few rowdy young cowboys in the pilot corral that need someone to keep them quiet. My rep speaks for itself."  
  
"How's Carol taking the news?"  
  
"Carol knew when we started this that there would be changes. She understands."  
  
"Good. So, there we are."  
  
"Here we are."  
  
"To a new beginning!" 


	4. Strange Visitor

Fear the Unknown  
  
Chapter 4:  
  
(Disclaimer: all characters are copyrights of DC Comics, a division of AOL- Time Warner. I don't own any of this stuff, sadly.)  
  
Los Angeles, CA  
  
"I'm telling you, it wasn't natural!"  
  
Si Templeton ran a hand over the shining surface of his head. Si was a simple man with simple perceptions of right and wrong, which is why he was Los Angeles' district attorney. The Hall of Justice in Salem liked people who saw things in black and white.  
  
"Look, Peter, I don't doubt you. You're a smart boy with a good head on his shoulders. But these are some serious accusations that you're making, here. You claim that you were rescued by someone or something using magic."  
  
"What else could it have been, Si? I was thrown from a window and landed without a scratch."  
  
"Some might call it a miracle, Peter, a blessing from the almighty."  
  
"I don't think I'm all that important in the great scheme of things, Si."  
  
"I'll tell you what. I'll speak with the Dark Arts division in Sacramento. We'll see what they think. You say that there was no record of any of this on your building's tapes?"  
  
"None at all. The tapes were completely wiped clean."  
  
"Hm. All right. Well, you just keep your nose clean for a while, Pete. I'll let you know in a few days."  
  
"Thanks, Si."  
  
Across town, a feeble old man wove his way through the crowds of businessmen and minor bureaucrats that swarmed like ants through downtown. He was unshaven, with ragged hair. He look as if he had once been handsome, but something horrible had taken its toll on him, making the thirty-something vagrant look closer to sixty.  
  
"Someone." He mumbled. "Anyone. please, help me."  
  
He blundered into walls as he staggered more with each step. As he became more and more erratic, those around him began to take notice.  
  
"Please. help me."  
  
"STAY WHERE YOU ARE." A voice boomed from overhead. The crowd stared skyward as dark black helicopters whipped around the corner of a building into view. They were thick hulled, painted jet black, with bold white crosses glaring defiantly from their fuselages.  
  
"No! They've found me!"  
  
The old man redoubled his efforts, stumbling away with as much speed as he could muster, the crowd dropping away from him, terrified. Six men dropped from one of the helicopters, their black boots thudding to the ground as they pulled out their weapons.  
  
"Don't make us use force, old man. Our orders are to take you alive."  
  
The old man's face twisted in confusion as he was surrounded.  
  
"Why? Why don't you just kill me?"  
  
"Who knows? Now, are you going to do this the easy way, or the hard way?"  
  
For a moment, the old man wavered, then he saw, out of the corner of his eye, a large framed man, just barely beyond the fringes of the crowd. His neat suit barely concealed the thickly muscled body beneath, and his dark- rimmed glasses couldn't mask the fury in his eyes at what was happening.  
  
"No!!!" The old man, invigorated for some reason by what he saw in that man's eyes, threw off the tattered overcoat that he'd been hugging around him, and the crowd gasped collectively in shock as the wiry, battered body rippled and changed, glowing with energy and power. What had appeared to be flesh melted away and revealed what could have been golden armor beneath. The man's head erupted in some sort of flame and he rocketed skyward, to be chased by the helicopters.  
  
Clark looked on as the choppers flew away, hating himself because he knew that he could have helped the man, but that he was bound by his promise to the others, not to do anything until the time was right.  
  
But who was that man? 


	5. Out of Time

Fear the Unknown  
  
Chapter 5:  
  
(Disclaimer: all characters are copyrights of DC Comics, a division of AOL- Time Warner. I don't own any of this stuff, sadly.)  
  
"What were you doing in L.A., Clark? Are you trying to draw attention to us?" Hal was running a hand through his graying hair. "We can't risk early exposure, you know that."  
  
"You think I'm trying to pretend that I don't? I know it as well as anyone, Hal. I'm at just as much risk here as any of you, more in some ways. At least you can go back to a normal life if they start to come down on us, you're human. Me they'd use to spark a whole new hysteria."  
  
"Take it easy, guys." Barry said from the chair near the TV. "You should come check this out."  
  
The television was showing recorded footage of what Clark had witnessed in Los Angeles, luckily he'd managed to stay out of any camera shots, but it did let them get a closer look at the strange man who the black coats had been chasing.  
  
"Any idea who he is?" Hal asked.  
  
"None." I already checked with my sources inside the organization, and it's as if this guy just showed up overnight. No one even seems to know how they found him."  
  
"He's a shape shifter, any chance that he's connected to John?"  
  
"With that fire coming from his head, not likely."  
  
"He's something new, then. But how'd they know about him?"  
  
ELSEWHERE  
  
"You're probably wondering how I knew of you."  
  
The man in black strode before the kneeling body of his prisoner, captured just minutes after he'd appeared in Los Angeles.  
  
"After all, it seems that even you don't know who you are. What a pity, since you've gone to all this effort to come back and stop me."  
  
He tore the hood back from his face, and Dominic Bliss' eyes blazed at the prisoner.  
  
"Do you even recognize me, Matthew? Do you even remember who it is you are dealing with?"  
  
"No." The prisoner muttered.  
  
"So much effort, so many sacrifices, and all for nothing. Pathetic." He turned and stalked away. "Take him away. Lock him with the others."  
  
Grabbing him by the dampening collar that he wore, the guards dragged the man once known as Matthew Ryder toward the holding pens. Inescapable, un- survivable, a death sentence. 


	6. Rising Storm

Fear The Unknown  
  
Chapter Six: Rising Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: all characters are copyrights of DC Comics, a division of AOL- Time Warner. I don't own any of this stuff, sadly.)  
  
Clark looked around him as he walked along the Metropolis streets. It seemed as if everything were snowballing now, that somehow they had upset the delicate balance of the universe simply by daring to contemplate opposing the powers that be. Before he had joined this little conspiracy he would have stood on the sidelines and watched, feeling helpless to do anything about what had obviously been an act of violence against an innocent man. Now he was supposed to do something. That was the pledge that the four. three of them had made; to uphold right and to fight for justice. But that man who had been captured looked just as powerful as any of the rest of them, and he had been taken like any of a dozen others Clark had witnessed in recent years. What was to stop them from taking him?  
  
He watched, silently, from his chair as the cameras followed Kent down the street toward the Daily Planet. He knew that White was a good man, and had known that he was involved in the conspiracy to upset the powers that suppressed super humans, but him crossing paths with Kent was something he had never counted on. The alien threw an unexpected, unpredictable factor into the plans that had been so meticulously crafted through years of careful study. Allen and Jordan were courageous and intelligent, but predictable for a man like him. Kent. Kent could easily tip the balance in their favor, in terms of power, but his heritage created a problem all its own. People would be frightened enough of Allen, a normal man gifted with speed from a lightning bolt. He'd had his misgivings about Jordan as well. He was a normal human, but an agent of some alien power. No, this wouldn't do, it simply wouldn't do.  
  
Clark knew that he should be getting back to work, but he couldn't bring his mind to focus on the mundane issues of a too-peaceful Metropolis. That was part of the problem, he thought. Too many people aren't going to want to see anything change. Sure, they're just as afraid of Them as we are, but their lives are more peaceful than anywhere else in the world. In other parts of the world, those few places where the Holy American Dominion's reach did not extend, they were somewhat more tolerant of the super-humans who lived among them, but they could afford to, because the populations were almost unnoticeably small. In America, particularly in the last fifty years, it had seemed like nature itself was rebelling against the laws, with the occurrence of paranormal abilities spiking sharply.  
  
He wandered past the natural history museum and looked up at the banner displayed above its entrance.  
  
"Treasures of Themyscera", it proclaimed proudly.  
  
Clark's face darkened as he remembered his history lessons. Themyscera had been the home of an isolated tribe of women warriors, claiming to be the Amazons of antiquity. That alone should have warranted opening dialogue with them since, if it were true, it meant they possessed a wealth of knowledge from historical periods long since lost to man. But they had worshipped the ancient Greek gods and so the Dominion's choice had been a swift one. The Themyscerans had broken the first commandment and they were swiftly conquered, their libraries and museums pillaged, and their vast stores of artifacts shipped out to the Dominion's museums. He remembered he had been a little boy when the national networks had aired the execution of their queen and her daughter. It had been one of the first times he had begun to truly question what the Dominion represented, long before he learned of his past and his abilities. He stared and stared at the banner, feeling the fire growing within him. He saw in his mind's eye the images of the Amazon War that had never been aired, the ones that existed only in his mind. He saw their beautiful stone temples being torn to the ground, the lines of prisoners being led to the transport ships to leave for internment camps. He saw the look of pure serenity on the face of Hippolyta as she stood before the firing squad and the look of abject horror on her daughter's face as she saw her mother crumple into a lifeless heap. His eyes burned and he could feel himself about to tear free.  
  
"Don't, Clark." He heard a soft voice from behind him. He didn't have to turn and look, he knew the voice.  
  
"How'd you know where to find me, Hal?"  
  
"You were late for coffee. We looked for you at the Planet, but they said you weren't back. Barry made a quick run and told me you were just standing here."  
  
"Its not right, Hal."  
  
"I know, Clark. But we can't talk here. Come on. Someone wants to meet us."  
  
Clark turned now to look at Jordan. The rage in his eyes had somewhat subsided, but it was still there, simmering below the surface.  
  
"Let's go." 


	7. Alignments

Fear The Unknown  
  
Chapter Seven: Alignments  
  
(Disclaimer: all characters are copyrights of DC Comics, a division of AOL- Time Warner. I don't own any of this stuff, sadly.)  
  
(Author's Note: After demands from my few loyal fans, I'm kicking this story back into gear. I hope you enjoy, and the more you review, the more I write!)  
  
Peter Langford once had a simple life. He was a man who knew his job and was actually good at it. He put bad men behind bars, it was as simple as that. That was what he'd wanted to do since he was a little boy. Now, though, Peter's life was not so simple, not so easy. For his entire life, he'd lived with the certainty that he was doing God's work. He was punishing sinners. He had been raised to believe, unequivocally, in the truth of the Word and in the justice of heaven. Those who defied God's word or sought to elevate themselves beyond the place that the almighty had ordained were evil men, and should be treated as such. Or so he'd thought.  
  
As he walked into the District Attorney's office in Downtown Los Angeles, he couldn't shake the thoughts that had been plaguing him for weeks now. The thoughts that perhaps, just perhaps, there was something different out there. That maybe there were things that could not be explained by the scriptures, that just maybe there was something out there that he could not understand.  
  
"Morning, Pete!" Si Templeton's voice snapped Peter out of his musings and back into the real world as his boss approached him. "So I talked with the boys in the Capital yesterday and they'd like to have a word or two with you." Si obviously saw the look of terror that washed over Peter's face at the mention of the authorities wanting to speak with him. He had heard stories about some people who had gone into the Inquisition offices and come back out. changed. Si put a hand around his shoulders to steady him. "Don't worry, m'boy, you're not in any trouble. It just seems that the stuff you talked about piqued their interest. They've already booked you a flight. You leave this afternoon."  
  
Si let the hand fall away, and an only slightly less terrified Peter Langford moved toward his office.  
  
"Oh Pete, one more thing." Si called out.  
  
"Yeah, boss?"  
  
"Did you ever get to the Queen file?"  
  
"Not yet, why?"  
  
"Nothing big, just drop it on my desk on your way out. I want to look at some things."  
  
*******  
  
METROPOLIS  
  
"So, what's this all about, Hal?" Clark asked.  
  
The three confederates stood together in the cramped office of a small, rundown warehouse on the outskirts of town, waiting for the supposed contact who wanted to meet with them.  
  
"Not sure, actually. Eel called me up this morning and said we needed to be here at three to meet with someone he just called 'the rich boy'."  
  
"The rich boy, huh? Think he'll spring for lunch?" Barry stood leaning against the far wall, examining the faded pictures of old crews that must have once worked whatever business the warehouse had serviced.  
  
"Knock it off, Bar. This is serious stuff. According to Eel, this guy coordinates most of the underground activities in the country. Personally, I'm a bit worried."  
  
Clark's eyebrow went up.  
  
"Why's that?"  
  
"This is too high profile for us. If this guy knows about us, who else does? I don't know about you, but I'm not sure about this whole setup. It smells like. well. a setup."  
  
"I assure you, Mr. Jordan, I have no interest in seeing you dead. Or you, Mr. Kent, or you, Mr. Allen."  
  
Somehow, without their noticing, someone had come through an unseen entrance to the room and that someone was now standing before them, wearing a nicely tailored suit and a black mask.  
  
"I should tell you directly, it would be a waste of your time to try and discern my identity. My voice, as well as my face, is masked. The mask contains a thin lead sheet as well as a rather expensive oriental silk. I always did like yellow."  
  
The tension in the room was palpable as their mystery man took a seat behind the office's battered desk.  
  
"Now, to the business at hand. I have been observing you gentlemen for some time, as you have no doubt guessed. We all have something in common, you see. We all have a score to settle with the present administration."  
  
"You're talking about The Inquisition." Clark said.  
  
"I hate to spoil your illusions, Mr. Kent, but The Inquisition is hardly even the tip of the iceberg. Tell me, have any of you ever seen this man?"  
  
A folder seemed to appear with the flick of his hand and he laid it open on the desk. Inside was a sheaf of papers and several photographs, all of one man. Each of them shook their heads.  
  
"His name, at least as far as I can determine, is Dominic Bliss and he has been the power behind the government in this country for over three hundred years."  
  
"That's impossible!"  
  
"I assure you, Mr. Allen, it is most definitely possible. My agents have been able to discover very little about Bliss before 1680, but it appears that he presided over the earliest 'witchhunts' in Salem which, as you know, were the first step toward the policies enforced by our beloved government."  
  
Clark put a hand up.  
  
"So, let me just get this straight. You're trying to tell us that this man has been running around for three hundred years and that he is the reason that things are the way they are?"  
  
"Mr. Kent, if you're going to insist on repeating everything I say, this will take considerably longer. Done? All right, then. Now, moving on to our second item. This man."  
  
He produced another photograph and this time, they all knew the face.  
  
"Subject MH741, as he is referred to. Origin unknown. Appeared in Los Angeles last week, and before that, had been spotted in Gotham, Central City, and yes, even Metropolis. He appears to have some limited teleportation ability and can shape shift as well. Initial analysis had him pegged as a possible member of the Martian race, but subsequent datum indicate that he is, or at least was, human. He was captured in Los Angeles last week, as I believe you knew, Mr. Kent, and is currently being held at a special detention facility in the Nevada desert."  
  
"Why are you telling us all this? What do you want?"  
  
"Come now, Mr. Kent. It should be obvious. I want you to get him out."  
  
"And then what? We break into a government prison, break a prisoner out of holding, and just go back to our normal lives?"  
  
"Of course not. You will also need to kill Dominic Bliss." 


	8. Resistance

Fear the Unknown  
  
Chapter 8: Resistance  
  
(Disclaimer: all characters are copyrights of DC Comics, a division of AOL- Time Warner. I don't own any of this stuff, sadly.)  
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
All three men directed a look of incredulity toward their mysterious "patron".  
  
"I don't believe I stuttered."  
  
Clark stood up and made for the door.  
  
"Where are you going?"  
  
He turned around and leveled a fierce stare at the masked man.  
  
"I'm sorry, but I'm no one's assassin. I'm leaving."  
  
Barry came over and spoke quietly to his old friend.  
  
"Clark, think this over. We're talking about not having to hide any more. About maybe doing some real good in the world."  
  
"I won't do it, Barry. I'm not a killer. If that's what it takes to build a new world, its not the kind of world I want to live in."  
  
Their benefactor held up a hand.  
  
"Gentlemen. I apologize. I assure you, a way can be found to deal with Mr. Bliss that does not require you to do anything contrary to your personal codes. However, I can also assure you that we must act quickly. Time is of the essence."  
  
"Why is that?"  
  
"Let me ask you, why do you think Bliss has such a particular interest in this man?" He asked, waving to the picture of the prisoner. He then stood and walked over to the wall of the office, where a panel slid open to reveal a display screen. It appeared to be the footage of the unknown meta's capture, but from a different angle.  
  
"This image was recorded by one of a series of specialized drones that I maintain in major cities. These drones are equipped with the best scientific sensors that money can buy, and quite a few that it can't. You've probably all seen this footage before. This is what you can't see."  
  
He pressed a button and the image turned a negative black and white, but with a riot of colors focusing around the man who was being captured.  
  
"These are chroniton particles, still considered theoretical by most of the scientific community. This man can apparently manipulate and even create them at will. Perhaps Mr. Allen would be so kind as to tell us what that means."  
  
Barry shifted uncomfortably and spoke softly.  
  
"It means he can control time. He could slow it down, speed it up, or transcend it entirely."  
  
"But if that's so, then why couldn't he escape Bliss's forces?" Jordan asked.  
  
"The answer, Mr. Jordan, should be clear, when you think about it. If a man with the ability to transcend time is unable to exercise that ability when faced with a particular foe, what is the most likely explanation?"  
  
No one seemed to have an answer. Suddenly, a voice came from the corner.  
  
"He can't. Not against Bliss."  
  
Somehow, this new figure had also managed to slip into the room without attracting the attention of those gathered there. Except for the masked man.  
  
"Gentlemen, let me introduce my associate, Mr. Richard Grayson. Richard and a small team he has trained will be accompanying you to Nevada."  
  
"Wait, what's he mean, 'he can't'?"  
  
Their benefactor spoke again, once more comfortably seated behind the desk.  
  
"Quite simple, Mr. Jordan. Against Dominic Bliss, this traveler is powerless. Which means that Bliss has also unlocked the secrets of chroniton particles. Until we analyzed this footage, we had no idea what Bliss was up to out in Nevada. For months he has been funneling raw materials and workers to this base, building something extremely large. We now believe it to be a focus for chronitons."  
  
"You're talking about a time machine."  
  
"Precisely, Mr. Jordan. With the ability to traverse time at will, Bliss could do anything from altering history to peremptorily killing off enemies. He must be stopped before he can complete this work."  
  
There was silence for a second. Allen and Jordan looked to Kent. It was his decision that would make or break them.  
  
"All right, we're in."  
  
Even through the cloth covering that he wore, they could all see the masked man smile. 


	9. The Plan

Fear the Unknown  
  
Chapter 9: The Plan  
  
(Disclaimer: all characters are copyrights of DC Comics, a division of AOL- Time Warner. I don't own any of this stuff, sadly.)  
  
With the elder fighters' agreements secured, the masked man touched yet another concealed control and the back wall of the office slid away to reveal a wide staircase leading downward. As the group descended, Barry whispered in Hal's ear.  
  
"Secret passages, lead-lined masks, and resistance fighters? What's next, ray guns and invisible cars?"  
  
"Be careful what you wish for." Hal dropped his voice a bit more. "Keep your eyes open. I'm still not sure I like this."  
  
They continued their descent for what seemed like miles, until they finally exited the passage into a large open space.  
  
"What did I tell you?"  
  
Laid out before them was a veritable armory of advanced weaponry. Tanks, fighter craft, and yes, even ray guns. What seemed like hundreds of black- clad soldiers swarmed around the underground complex.  
  
"How do you keep all this concealed?"  
  
Grayson was the one to respond.  
  
"Its not all that hard, really. We generate our own power, and the rock between us and the surface cuts down on any detectible energy emissions. Come over here, we'll get you prepped."  
  
He led them over to a table with equipment laid out on it.  
  
"Kent, you won't require any gear, so we've just outfitted you with standard combat blacks."  
  
Clark took the clothes from Grayson and examined them. A small frown crossed his face when he saw the mask.  
  
"I don't like the idea of wearing a mask."  
  
"Get used to it. Its either that or those nice old folks in Kansas bite the dust as soon as the Inquisition sees surveillance tapes."  
  
Clark wanted to say more, but bit his tongue.  
  
"Jordan, you're pretty simple too. Your gear is pretty basic. We went ahead and added some lightweight Kevlar just in case they throw you something off-color."  
  
Hal simply nodded and took the clothes.  
  
"Now these we had fun with. Allen, you get to play. These boots are a special material that has higher traction than anything you could get on the commercial market, but creates zero wind resistance. We made the clothes from the same material. You can let loose."  
  
The three men took a moment to change and then rejoined the rest of the group. Grayson had them gather around a large circular table.  
  
"Meet the rest of the team. Roy Harper, Munitions and Planning. Slade Wilson will be piloting us in. Gar Logan will be on the ground with us, and Donna Troy is our resident powerhouse. Don't piss her off."  
  
There nods around the table and then Grayson turned to Harper.  
  
"Okay, Roy, break it down for us."  
  
The table lit up as a holographic display was emitted from its surface.  
  
"Okay boys and girls, this is Complex 51A, Nevada. Special Detention and Research. First task is entry. There's a motion sensor perimeter one thousand meters out from the base, and others at five hundred, two fifty, and one hundred meters. We can't slip in under it, and the radar nets will detect us if we try and go over it, so Allen, you're in first. Computer analysis tells us that the sensors will lose you at a vibration of two hundred cycles per second, think you can pull it off?"  
  
Barry nodded, silently.  
  
"Good. Second task. Once you're inside, we need you to cut the power and kill the emergency generator, located here." A spot on the display shifted from red to green. "This will kill the sensor net and primary communications. We clear? Good. From the time the power goes down, we have approximately forty-two minutes before the nearest reinforcements can arrive. Once the sensor net is down, Troy, Logan, Grayson and I will drop by parachute. Kent, Jordan, you two will need to secure our landing area and intercept any S.A.M.s."  
  
Harper switched the display to a closer focus.  
  
"Once inside, we will head straight down the main corridor to the detention area. Intel tells us that the target is heavily guarded, so we'll have to hit hard and fast. The only thing we should really have to worry about is Bliss making a break for it. Slade's our ace in the hole. He'll be monitoring all surface activity from the air, and without power, none of the underground exists should be accessible. Once that's done and we've gotten the fire-headed boy unlocked, Jordan, we'll need you to handle extraction."  
  
He switched the display off.  
  
"In case things go south, rally point is seven miles due south of the facility. Clear?"  
  
Again, nods of agreement and then Grayson took over.  
  
"Good. Thanks Roy. From here on out its codenames. Troy: Amazon. Logan: Beast. Wilson: Hawk. Allen: Speedy. Jordan: Lantern. Kent: Super-man. My codename is Boss. Okay. No time to waste. We roll in thirty." 


	10. Points of View

Fear the Unknown  
  
Chapter 10: Points of View  
  
(Disclaimer: all characters are copyrights of DC Comics, a division of AOL- Time Warner. I don't own any of this stuff, sadly.)  
  
For some, thirty minutes might sound like some degree of scrambling was needed to get ready. Not for Barry Allen. For the fastest man alive, thirty seconds was more than enough time for him to be prepared. So, with a surplus of time on his hands, Barry was left with the only other person to whom that short timeframe didn't really matter.  
  
"How're you holding up, Clarkie? Sorry... 'Super-man'?"  
  
Clark was sitting alone near the top of the massive equipment bay, where few could see him and fewer could reach him. Barry was one of those few.  
  
"Do you remember what we agreed when we got into this, Bar? We said we wanted to be something new. We wanted to be something the world had never seen before."  
  
"We wanted to be heros. I remember."  
  
"So what are we now? Are we heros? Are we assasins?"  
  
"We're neither, pal."  
  
"Then what are we?"  
  
"We're soldiers, Clark." They were both quiet for a moment. "Maybe in a different world, we could have been heros. Maybe in a different time we might have been able to afford the luxury of some moral code like the knights of the Round Table, but we don't live in that world or that time. We live in a world controlled by fanatics who believe they are right. We live in a world that fears everything it doesn't understand. In this world, we just have to do what we can... we do what we have to do."  
  
Again there was a moment of silence, but it was broken by the sound of clapping hands.  
  
"That's a fine speech, kid." Slade Wilson approached them, already fully decked out in his combat gear, his blind eye concealed by a solid side to his facemask. "Too bad you're full of it."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"You heard me. You want to be heros. That's a damned good idea, but it never would have worked. Don't you get it? You, him, others like you and this guy we're supposed to spring, you're freaks of nature. You never would have been accepted. They'd have hunted you down even without these religious nuts goading them on, and if you think otherwise, you're just kidding yourself."  
  
The two men stared at each other for a moment, Wilson's hard glare shooting out from his one good eye. Finally, Clark stood.  
  
"I feel sorry for you, Wilson. I really do."  
  
With that he floated off of the platform and slowly descended to the main floor, where the others were boarding the advanced jet that their benefactor had supplied. Barry raced down the wall and beat him there by a heartbeat. Wilson was the last to approach, and Grayson was waiting for him at the gangway.  
  
"It really is too bad." Wilson said, flatly. 


	11. Toils and Snares

Fear the Unknown  
  
Chapter 11: Toils and Snares  
  
It was quiet aboard the jet as the team of unlikely allies moved over the Nevada desert. They sat like soldiers, lining the exterior walls of the plane. Barry had jumped ship when they hit the Nevada border and was making a beeline for the complex. The rest of them were simply sitting, awaiting the go-sign.  
  
Hal moved over to where Clark was sitting and joined him.  
  
"What was all that about back there?"  
  
"Just a difference of opinion. I'm getting a bad feeling about all of this. Call it intuition, call it what you will. something's just not right."  
  
"I know. I can feel it too. Keep your eyes open, okay, pal?"  
  
He nodded and Jordan walked back to his seat as Wilson's voice came into their ear-speakers.  
  
"ETA to target, two minutes. We're establishing a holding pattern until we receive. wait, there it is. We've got confirmation from Speedy. Super- man, Lantern, you're on."  
  
Hal and Clark secured their facemasks and moved to the back of the plane, where a large cargo door opened.  
  
"You ready?"  
  
"Ready as I'll ever be."  
  
"Go!" Wilson shouted in their ears  
  
The two leapt out, letting their bodies go into freefall for a moment before rocketing forward, Jordan with a blaze of emerald light and Kent nothing more than a blur. The two shot forward and, in the distance, they began to see the small shapes of soldiers pouring out of the complex. The place itself was sand-colored, using a natural bowl-shaped depression in the landscape to conceal itself.  
  
Wilson spoke again in their ear.  
  
"Super-man, Lantern. Hook up with Speedy at the northeast helipad, that's where we'll be making our approach. First priority is to eliminate the perimeter guns."  
  
They split and dove straight down, making a head-on approach at the gathering troops. Hal smiled with a small satisfaction as he saw the terrified looks on the faces of the soldiers. Concentrating a little, he formed a giant bulldozer in front of them and began to push them backwards. Clark was shrugging off shots from what appeared to be a high-powered laser cannon until he slammed into the turret tower and cut it in half. He set down in the middle of the helipad, surrounded by soldiers, who promptly opened fire with everything they had.  
  
When the smoke cleared, he was simply standing there, the smile on his face showing slightly through the mask. His eyes began to glow and suddenly red- hot energy shot from them, sending troops running for cover as their positions heated up and exploded around them.  
  
Minutes later, it was over. The troops were contained in a makeshift pen that Clark had constructed from the debris of the guns and Hal signaled to the plane that they could make their approach. Parachutes sprouted in the sky as the non-flying members of the team descended. Once they were all on the ground, Grayson gathered them together.  
  
"Okay, let's do it. Super-man, Lantern, Troy, blow the blast door. Move fast, people, we have thirty-seven minutes!"  
  
The powerhouses moved over to the thick titanium plate guarding the entrance to the complex.  
  
"Okay, how to do this?" Hal said.  
  
"Hold on. I have an idea." With that, Clark reared back his fist and hit the door as hard as he could. The enormous wall caved in immediately and went flying off its tracks. Troy looked at him with a slightly shocked expression on her face.  
  
"Well, it works."  
  
"Can the chatter, move!" Grayson was already sprinting past them and they could see another wave of troops moving down the corridor. "Beast, do it!"  
  
Garth's body twisted and contorted until it took on the shape of a giant bull elephant and he went charging down the corridor, sending soldiers flying left and right. Grayson was moving among them, dropping them one after another with a series of well-placed blows, dodging their fire with acrobatics that would have impressed any Olympic judge. For the others, it was pretty simple. Clark simply took their fire and left them imprinted in the steel of the corridor walls, while Hal knocked them unconscious, using his ring to impact them against the walls.  
  
Finally, they came to the end of the corridor, facing another door marked with a giant double helix that had something attached to it. Going for the double, Clark cocked his fist and hurled it. only to go flying backwards.  
  
A voice spoke to them from embedded speakers.  
  
"You didn't really think it was going to be that easy, did you?"  
  
There was a deafening thud as another door slammed down in the corridor behind them, cutting them off.  
  
"As you can see. we've been expecting you." 


	12. Out of the Frying Pan

Fear the Unknown  
  
Chapter 12: Out of the Frying Pan.  
  
They were penned in and, from what Dick could see, their situation was rapidly worsening. And that damned voice just wouldn't shut up.  
  
"You are indeed a fascinating group of individuals. Its really a shame you chose to put your talents to use in this way. Some of you might have been quite useful to us. As it is. well, believe me when I say that I wish things could have turned out differently."  
  
Panels began to open on the walls and a variety of devices emerged. Dick realized that, whatever they were, they weren't going to be friendly.  
  
"Lantern! Shield!"  
  
Emerald energy shot from Hal's hand and created a dome around the group. Again, the speakers spat forth that inane voice, always calm, always cool, and always annoying as hell.  
  
"I'm afraid you're going to have to do better than that."  
  
One of the devices shot out a beam of blazing light, refracted at just the right angles to tinge it yellow. It lanced through the shield and hurled Jordan across the room, leaving him writhing in pain. In the air above them, Kent was furiously dodging what appeared to be beams of green light, but he was slowing down. Whatever they were, they were having some effect on him even without hitting him.  
  
"Troy, Beast, I need ideas."  
  
"All out, bossman."  
  
"Shit."  
  
As he looked on, one of the beams caught Super-man in the small of the back, dropping him like a rock. As he fell, panels in the floor opened up and steel tentacles emerged, snaring Jordan and Kent and dragging them inside. A moment later Dick heard a slow hissing sound.  
  
"I'm afraid that the rest of you aren't nearly as interesting to me as those fine gentlemen, so I must say goodnight."  
  
It was Beast that spoke first.  
  
"He's draining the air. he's going to suffocate us!"  
  
"I know. Anybody have an idea yet?"  
  
"Shh!"  
  
"That won't help, Troy."  
  
"SHH!!! I hear something else."  
  
The other two stopped talking and then they both heard it; a sort of humming from the door behind them.  
  
"Everybody get back!"  
  
Seconds later, the door went flying into a million pieces and, amid the smoke, they made out the figure of Barry Allen dropping to one knee.  
  
"Now that took some effort."  
  
"What'd you do?"  
  
"Got the molecules in the door vibrating fast enough that it shook itself apart. Forgot for a second how dense titanium is." He looked around. "What happened to the others?"  
  
"Someone, not Bliss, has them. They were taken down and dragged into the floor."  
  
"Well we've got to go after them!"  
  
"No."  
  
Barry fixed a deadly glare on Dick.  
  
"No? What the hell do you mean, 'No'?"  
  
"I mean we still have a job to do. They knew the risks. Now we have to do what we came here to do."  
  
"No way. There is no way in hell that I'm leaving them to rot in whatever psycho chamber of horrors these wackos have cooked up."  
  
"We won't leave them. But we have to complete the mission."  
  
The two locked eyes and then, as his adrenaline came down, Barry realized that he was right.  
  
"Okay. Lets do it then. What now?"  
  
"Now that we're not going to suffocate, we find a way around. I think I have an idea. Those doors in walls must have some sort of conduits. Beast, make me a hole in the wall!"  
  
A second later, a big, green gorilla fist rammed its way through one of the wall casements and tore the plating off. Dick made sure his gloves were on good and tight and reached in and grabbed the first thick cable he found.  
  
"Here goes nothing."  
  
He yanked hard and tore the cable loose, pulling one end clear of the wall. He then held it out toward Allen.  
  
"Think you can jam that into that big door?"  
  
"On it."  
  
The cable disappeared from his hand and reappeared half imbedded in the door, which was now shaking violently. They could see arcs of electricity jumping from it and then they heard a loud boom from somewhere behind it.  
  
"I'd say we killed it. Troy, would you do the honors?"  
  
Donna calmly walked over to the door, cracked her knuckles and reached to the bottom of it. Digging her fingers into its hard surface, she pulled up as hard as she could and it began to bend.  
  
"Beast, help her."  
  
Gorilla-Garth darted over and howled as he added his strength to Donna's. With a great wrenching sound, the door gave way and was sent crashing inward.  
  
"Now, lets go get the fireboy and find the others."  
  
Just down the corridor was a computer terminal embedded in the wall. Dick pulled a small device from his belt and hooked it to the interface.  
  
"I have it. He's in holding cell AA-23. Speedy, do it."  
  
Barry went racing away and came to a halt in front of the door to the cell.  
  
"Well, this worked before."  
  
He concentrated and jammed his hyper-vibrated hand into the middle of the door. It was made of somewhat lighter material than the giant blast door, so with a shriek it went flying into hundreds of pieces. What he saw when he stepped into the cell was almost enough to make him vomit.  
  
Hanging from the wall was the limp body of a man, his body largely composed of what had once been blazing energy. Now there were all kinds of cables hooked into him at every possible place, from head to toe.  
  
Dick had approached from behind him and joined him.  
  
"My god. They're sucking the life out of him."  
  
"Well, not quite."  
  
They whirled around and saw a tall, well built man standing behind them, dressed in a finely tailored suit and holding a small remote control. Barry tried to run at him, but was thrown backwards as he ran into what seemed to be a force field.  
  
"Congratulations to all of you on being far more ingenious than I gave you credit for. I really must remember to put better shielding on those defenses."  
  
"What do you want with us?" Dick growled.  
  
"With you? Oh, nothing, really. Your friends I may need to do some tests on, but you, I can see, are rather ordinary. As for our companion on the wall. he is really quite remarkable. Soon he will have charged a small contraption I've been working on and I will be able to change everything. No mistakes. No failures. No one lost."  
  
"And that justifies killing him?"  
  
"Sometimes sacrifices must be made. The good of the many. well. I won't bore you with my tedious justifications. Suffice it to say that his power will go to benefit all of mankind."  
  
"And you?"  
  
"Me? Only in a small way. His power will save lives. That is all I want."  
  
"Who are you? Where do you fit into all this?"  
  
"I'll just say that The Reverend Mr. Bliss are old friends."  
  
"Well, I must once again say goodnight. I hope you all sleep well, we have much to learn from you."  
  
They could smell the gas that was seeping into the room and, as he lost consciousness, Dick heard him say something.  
  
"So like him." 


	13. Deus Ex Machina

Fear the Unknown  
  
Chapter 13: Deus Ex Machina  
  
"Well, shit."  
  
Slade Wilson, codenamed Hawk, was not a happy camper. He'd been monitoring communications from the strike force on the ground and had just heard the thumps indicating that they were down for the count. Whoever the unidentified voice was, he definitely knew just what he was doing when it came to super-powered beings. He drummed his fingers on the control panel for a moment before growling slightly and hitting the communication controls.  
  
"Hawk to Base. Strike team has been compromised. Advise action."  
  
He sat and waited for the inevitable snarl from the other end.  
  
"Hawk, this is Big Man. Please confirm: strike team compromised."  
  
"Affirmative, Big Man. Primary target is intact, secondary target intact, strike team has been detained."  
  
Static began disrupting the transmission and Wilson could barely hear the next message.  
  
"Ad. H.k.. inco.. Evas.!"  
  
"Repeat, base, repeat!"  
  
The jet rocked violently and Wilson struggled to regain control. As he righted the craft, he saw a streak of black and blue rocketing toward the ground, the flames of afterburners flaring out behind it. The shape was deftly dodging the fire coming from the few remaining ground troops and Wilson realized, as it landed, that it was shaped like a man. Smaller shapes zipped to and fro, emerging from what Wilson realized was a highly advanced suit of mechanical armor. He tried to reestablish contact with base, but discovered that all frequencies were jammed.  
  
"Who is that?"  
  
On the ground, it couldn't have been a worse day to be a soldier. After only a brief period of recovery from the beating they'd received at the hands of the metahumans, the troopers found themselves engaged in another impossible battle. The man in the armor was everywhere, anticipating their every move, dodging the fire, taking them down in ones and twos until, finally, there were none left standing.  
  
Assessing the damage, the armored figure calmly walked to the sealed base door and used a computer interface to jack into the security system. Inside his helmet, the base's security grid was displayed in vivid holographic detail. He noted the weak points in the grid for future reference, and then focused his attention on the metahuman detention areas.  
  
"Release security locks, AA-20 through AA-27. Initiate command lockout, authorization Mattie zero-nine."  
  
Sirens sounded within the compound as the main door and the selected cell doors opened. Deep inside, The Doctor was just beginning his examination of his new specimen.  
  
"I apologize, Mr. Kent, it seems as if the interruptions just keep on coming today. Don't worry though, we will have plenty of time together."  
  
"Not today you won't."  
  
Behind him was the armored man, silhouetted in the doorway like a vengeful spirit.  
  
"You." The Doctor growled. "I should have known that you'd stick your nose into this. I should have taught you your lesson a long time ago."  
  
"You missed your chance. Turn him loose."  
  
"Over my dead body."  
  
The armored man raised a gauntlet that glowed on the end; a laser pre-fire sequence.  
  
"As a certain prince once said, 'that can be arranged'. Now release the restraints and shield the rock."  
  
With hate in his eyes, the Doctor moved to a control panel and the kryptonite rock retreated into the ceiling and the restraints slid away.  
  
"Stand against the back wall and don't move." He cocked his head. "You, pick up your friend."  
  
The shock on Barry Allen's face was apparent enough that he could almost hear a chuckle from within the suit of armor.  
  
"How did you?"  
  
"Know you were coming? That's my business. Now take him and get out of here."  
  
"We still have to get."  
  
"The time traveler? I'll see to him. Just get out, now. You have about five minutes."  
  
"What did you do?" The Doctor hissed.  
  
"Just left you a small present. See you soon."  
  
And with that he whirled and vanished down the corridor.  
  
****  
  
Waverider sat with his rescuer atop a rock formation as they watched the jet with his would-be rescuers sail off into the sunrise.  
  
"Remarkable. In any world. As are you."  
  
"Tell me something. Was I any better. in those other worlds that you've seen?"  
  
"In some ways, perhaps. in many ways you were far worse. Now I have a question for you. Why not reveal yourself?"  
  
"Its better this way."  
  
"As you wish. If I may. why did you save me?"  
  
"Bliss couldn't have you. and HE certainly couldn't. As for the Big Man. he and I will have a reckoning very soon." 


	14. Fork in the Road

Fear the Unknown  
  
Chapter 14: Fork in the Road  
  
"Now, let me understand this correctly, Wilson. The strike team did penetrate the base's defenses, and they did get access to the time traveler, and then he somehow just slipped away?"  
  
The masked man's dark glare could be felt even from behind the thick lead- lined fabric of his mask. Had it been directed at anyone other than Slade Wilson, that person might have feared for their life. As it was, Wilson's impassionate voice simply responded to the question.  
  
"He didn't simply slip away sir. I'd guess that whoever was inside that armor that I detected heading for the compound was responsible for both the team's escape and the disappearance of the time traveler."  
  
"Yes, this 'armored man' you spoke of. It appears that another player has entered the game."  
  
"Or has been in it for some time and is just now showing his hand."  
  
"I needed that time traveler, Wilson. He was crucial to my plans. Now I will be forced to explore. other options."  
  
"Should I pay a visit to Mr. Hunter?"  
  
"Not just yet. Hunter works best when he's not disturbed. We should hear from him soon enough. He will simply have to refocus his efforts."  
  
"And the strike team, sir?"  
  
"They worry me."  
  
"I understand, sir."  
  
The masked man waved a hand and Wilson left the room. He didn't particularly enjoy being someone's lackey, but he'd play the part as long as it suited his needs. And, for now, it did. Someday soon, though, he'd find out what the face behind that mask looked like.  
  
In the hangar bay, the strike team were dressing their wounds and trying to figure out where they went from there.  
  
"He knew who we were. I don't know how, but he knew."  
  
Of all of them, Barry was in the best shape. Clark was still feeling some lingering aftereffects from his exposure to the Doctor's rock and Hal was pretty well banged up himself. Still, it was Clark who lead the discussion.  
  
"The question now is what do we do? We can't go back to our lives with the knowledge that they know exactly where to find us and can take out our friends and families at any time. We're fugitives."  
  
"Maybe that's for the best." Hal said.  
  
"How do you figure?"  
  
"Let's think about this. As long as we had our "normal" lives, we could hide in them. We played our little games, helped out here and there, and then retreated back to our coffee shop. Now that we know what they know. what's to stop us from going public?"  
  
They stopped to consider this for a moment.  
  
"You know, Hal. you may be right. Maybe we could show the public that we aren't something to fear."  
  
"And maybe you'll just get yourselves killed."  
  
Wilson had approached the group and had decided to toss his two cents into their little chat.  
  
"Have you stopped to consider that maybe the public doesn't want to know? How many like you have tried this before? How many of you freaks have been killed in plain view of men, women and children who just didn't give a damn? You're no different."  
  
Clark stood and walked over to Wilson, getting almost nose to nose with him.  
  
"We are different, Wilson. You know why? Because we choose to be."  
  
The words hung there in the empty air of the hangar, echoing against the rock walls.  
  
"Well then Kent. I'll see you in hell."  
  
With that, Wilson turned on his heel and walked away again with Harper, Troy, and Logan following a bit behind him. Clark turned to his companions.  
  
"I guess that's that."  
  
"So where to?"  
  
"I have an idea. You guys remember John Henry?"  
  
"The folk hero guy?"  
  
Hal smacked Barry in the back of the head.  
  
"No, jackass. He's talking about John Henry, the guy from last year."  
  
"Oh, him. Yeah, I remember him."  
  
"I ran into him not too long ago. Seems he was working on some government project that he thought I might be interested in. Feel like paying him a visit?"  
  
"Same place as last time?"  
  
"That's my best guess."  
  
"All right."  
  
A small grin crossed Barry's face.  
  
"Last one there buys dinner."  
  
With that, the fastest man alive was gone in a blur. Hal looked to Clark with a slightly tired expression.  
  
"Ever get tired of this?" Clark asked.  
  
"Nah. He makes me laugh."  
  
The two took a moment, then shot into the air through the launch bay doors. As their contrails dissipated, Dick Grayson shifted slightly on his perch, trying to decide what to make of what he'd seen. Maybe he should tell the masked man about it. If he didn't, he'd probably be asking for trouble. The Boss didn't like not knowing things. For now though, he thought, I'll see what I can find out on my own. Especially about this "John Henry". 


	15. Setting the Board

Fear the Unknown  
  
Chapter 15: Setting the Board  
  
"Damn them!!!"  
  
The doctor pounded his fist against the desk and hurled the antiquated typewriter against the wall. He'd had them. He'd had the most perfect specimens of metagenetic mutation in his fingers and he'd lost them.  
  
"If I had only been able to finish my work, I might have finally put a stop to this menace... and the alien... what I could learn from him... he is almost divine in his potential."  
  
He looked again at the footage from the security tapes, footage of that damnable armored intruder.  
  
"Why, god damn you? I could make everything perfect, put all the wrongs to right and you... you simply refuse to understand it!"  
  
With a growl he flung a stack of papers at the monitor.  
  
"Temper, temper, doctor."  
  
Dominic Bliss seemed to glide into the room, rather than walk, his presence at once angelic and profoundly unsettling.  
  
"Such displays will not return the demons to our hands." He turned his eyes to the security monitor and pondered the subject for a moment. "I have often wondered, Doctor, why you never tended to this problem before it became so untenable. I have often wondered, as well, why he never came around to our way of thinking. Why, do you suppose, has the apple fallen so far from the tree?"  
  
The doctor turned his eyes downward, his face taking on a very somber expression.  
  
"I have prayed over that question many a night, Reverend, but to no avail. I hope upon hope that his soul can be saved, but he continues to subvert our efforts to cleanse this world of the evil that... of the evil that..."  
  
"I know, Doctor. I know." He looked again at the monitor and then put a fatherly hand on the Doctor's shoulder. "I will leave you to your prayers then. Consider that perhaps, if he cannot come to the light in this life, that the good Lord may still have mercy upon him in the next. Good night, Doctor."  
  
**********************  
  
Reverence, District of Columbia  
  
Hal, Barry and Clark all stood near the train station's exit and looked out over the sprawling majestic creation that was the nation's capitol. Reverence had the look of a city conceived by the Romans, built by the Egyptians, and retrofitted by H.G. Wells. Towering spires were connected by glass corridors, interlacing among monuments to the great heroes of the country. Chief among all the monuments though, was something that made Clark's blood boil.  
  
The newest monument showed a victorious soldier in Romanesque armor standing over the prone body of a woman whose face seemed to be cracked and wrinkled with evil, her claw-like hand clutching a spear.  
  
"In memoriam and remembrance of those who valiantly fought to rid the world of evil. To the Veterans of the Themyscrian War, we salute you."  
  
Barry put a hand on his shoulder.  
  
"Come on pal. Not the time or place. We've got work to do."  
  
"Yes. You do."  
  
A deep, rumbling baritone had come from behind them and when they turned, they were met with the grim visage of one of the largest men Clark had ever laid eyes on, himself included.  
  
John Henry Irons had been a weapons designer for the government, until he had the misfortune to be assigned to a division reporting directly to Dominic Bliss. He had been working on an experimental armor, supposedly to give America's troops an edge against the growing "Demon Menace". He had been an avid believer, having been educated at Reverence National Seminary, until he gained access to the classified data on captured "demons". The scientist in John Henry had immediately recognized what he was seeing as something not of the supernatural, but of nature. Once he'd seen that, he had run. He wouldn't have made it ten steps if not for the intervention of the three heroes he now greeted.  
  
"Good afternoon, my friends, and God bless. Come on, I think I know why you're here."  
  
He took them to a seemingly abandoned steel mill just outside the city limits, "seemingly" being the operative word, for as they approached, Clark heard the telltale sounds of laser cannons arming and rocket launchers queuing up.  
  
"Some place you've got here, John."  
  
"It's home."  
  
A set of massive steel doors parted and they drove inside. As they stopped, hundreds of banks of lights flashed on and there was a collective gasp by the assembled heroes. Everywhere there was weaponry. From particle weapons to what seemed to be a series of armored suits, each more advanced than the next. John Henry had been busy.  
  
"What is all this?"  
  
"Tools of war, gentlemen. Are you prepared to fight?"  
  
Standing behind them was the unmistakable figure of the armored avenger who had rescued them at Area 51. The eyes of his helmet glowed red as he stepped from the shadows.  
  
"Who are you?" Hal asked.  
  
"Who I am is not important. What is important is this. We have to bring down Bliss. Is there any argument on that fact?"  
  
There was none.  
  
"Very well. Then let us make our plans."  
  
The five moved off into the complex, never aware that above them, a set of eyes watched intently. Dick Grayson had never needed glasses. 


	16. Legends and Whispers

Fear the Unknown By Dante  
  
Chapter 16: Legends and Whispers  
  
Wayne turned his steely gaze toward Kent, and the fire burning behind the armored warrior's eyes sent a chill down his invulnerable spine.  
  
"I have studied Bliss intimately and even your erstwhile benefactor for all his arrogance and bluster, is not foolish enough to think that he could challenge the man openly. You forget, Bliss has all the resources of an entire nation filled with petrified but fervent supporters to call upon. Astounding though your abilities may be, Mr. Kent, I doubt even you can take on the assembled might of an entire country leveled against you."  
  
Wayne spoke with a cool calculation that seemed at once implacable and frightening, but even that stoic certainty of insurmountable odds could not rattle Clark's newfound hope.  
  
"It isn't just me though, don't you see? Look around you. You're standing here talking to living, breathing proof that hope for freedom still loves. We've faced Bliss and beaten his men..."  
  
"Nearly getting yourselves killed in the process."  
  
"Beaten his men and survived, with your help. We could do it again."  
  
"No one wants to see Bliss tossed upon the ash heap of history more than I do, but be reasonable. Even if we assume that what you're suggesting is possible, it would take vastly more firepower than even the three of you can supply. Bliss has the manpower, the Intel, and the advantage of being the party in power."  
  
"Power isn't everything, though, isn't that what you've been saying."  
  
"No, its not. Tangible power isn't everything, but Bliss has all the intangible advantages a despot could ask for, and more."  
  
"Then what, Wayne? We sit here in this factory, plotting until we all become as bitter and hopeless as you?"  
  
"No, we plan and try to find a way to undercut his power base and grind him down to nothing."  
  
"In other words, we sit in this cave and plot."  
  
"Okay, Kent. So you want to go charging off into glorious battle. Do it. Bliss has had you on the dissection table once this week already, I'm sure he'd be thrilled to be given a second chance."  
  
A chilly silence filled the room as the two men glared at each other. To the gathered observers, it seemed as if they were watching opposing forces of nature battling for supremacy in the echoing vastness of the factory. It was John Henry who was the first to break the deafening quiet.  
  
"There may be a way."  
  
John Henry steepled his fingers as the others turned their eyes his way, his massive dark frame making the silhouette he cast in gray on the wall all the more imposing.  
  
"I think we can all agree that something needs to be done and, my apologies, Bruce, but I think that Mr. Kent is right that action is the proper course."  
  
"Thank you very much, now..."  
  
"Now the problem is, even though anyone in this room could easily dismantle a squad of Bliss's troops, none of us are trained for war, and that's what this is."  
  
"So what are you suggesting, then?" Hal asked, a stern look carved on his face as he leaned against one of the myriad computer terminals arrayed in the makeshift war room.  
  
"There are rumors, stories mostly, from veterans of the Eastern Bloc war, of government agents, super-soldiers who possessed inexplicable powers. A man who could outrun any bullet, another who could lift tanks above his head, bird-men, shadowy mystery men whose very existence was denied by the military authorities at the time."  
  
"This is all very interesting John," Bruce interjected. "But what does it have to do with us?"  
  
"Several years ago, when I was still working for the government's Special Weapons Lab, I came across records from a Doctor Sivana, a geneticist from the Lab who talked about studies documenting the capabilities of these people. He was trying to find a way to artificially duplicate their abilities in the lab, but this was in the earliest days of genetics, and no one was willing to acknowledge that it was possible for such powers to be inborn in humanity. That would have put a bit of a damper on their attempts to convince the average person that super humans are demons. The last entry I found was by a Doctor Charles McNider, stating that his research had determined that their abilities were one of a kind and could not be duplicated. The odd part about this was that McNider was regarded as one of the top geneticists in the country, and modern research bears out that his findings were completely wrong. He had to have known that, so I went looking for him, but he'd disappeared."  
  
"If he's disappeared, then we're looking at a dead end."  
  
"Not quite. I did some checking into his personal history, and McNider did a term of service in the military, and his duty stations just so happen to match up rather well with some of the more easily substantiated reports of these super-agents. I abused my government access a bit more and discovered that shortly before he disappeared, McNider did an extensive amount of traveling to cities all over the country, Kansas City, Star City, and a lot of time in Langley."  
  
"When did he drop out of sight?"  
  
"It was shortly after the end of the Themyscrian war, when some of the bootleg footage of what was done to the survivors found its way into the public. I understand that there's still a bit of a market for it in some sicker circles."  
  
"Where's this all leading, John?"  
  
"Examination of service records from McNider's duty stations showed me several things. First, when he was shifted from post to post, he was never officially assigned to any outfit and, second, there were at least five individuals at every post who also fit that description. That number changes a bit between occurrences, but it backs up my theory."  
  
"And what theory is that?"  
  
"McNider was a part of something, some government strike force comprised of people who would now be hunted like the rest of you. Men and women trained in a different kind of war."  
  
"But if none of the people you're talking about have been seen since after the Themyscrian war, how are they supposed to help us?"  
  
"Ah, that's the good part. You see, I've found McNider."  
  
New Amsterdam  
  
The modest brownstone was situated in the older part of the city. Small, closely situated houses and apartment buildings crowded narrow streets, which dated back to before the Salem Rebellion. Wayne, Kent, and Irons stood out front, none of them speaking.  
  
"So this is where heroes end up?" Wayne rasped.  
  
"No, Bruce. This is where outlaws end up. Come on."  
  
John Henry's face was tight as he walked up the front steps and tapped on the door. A voice answered back from inside.  
  
"Who is and what do you want?"  
  
Mr. Nocte, my name is John Henry Irons and I'd like a word with you. About the war."  
  
"Irons?"  
  
The door opened and a man in his early fifties appeared. He had an athlete's build, which only made the presence of a pair of thick, dark sunglasses on his face all the more odd.  
  
"Aha. Doctor Irons. We've been expecting you for some time. Please, come in. And your friends as well."  
  
The three men entered the house and shut the door behind them. As McNider led them toward the living room, the questions came hard and fast from, of course, Bruce Wayne.  
  
"You say you've been expecting us? Why?"  
  
"Well, I was never quite sure when it would happen, but when the research facility at Area 51 was attacked last week, we knew if couldn't be long now."  
  
"That's twice now you've said 'we' Dr. McNider, since I know that's your name. Do you have a mouse in your pocket?" Kent asked.  
  
"No, son. He's talking about us."  
  
Sitting in the darkness of the study was a gray-templed man with a runner's physique. Behind him were a pair of blond-haired men, one in a business suit, the other in what seemed to be a set of battered desert clothes, with a tall, steely-eyed woman at his side. Another man sat at the desk, smoking a mother-of-pearl pipe and toying with some sort of metal rod and finally, standing in the corner shadows, a squat man with his arms crossed who looked as if he was spoiling for a fight.  
  
"Now, Doctor Irons, I know who you are. Now who are your friends?"  
  
Clark stepped forward.  
  
"I'm..."  
  
"Clark Kent, reporter for the Daily Planet, based in Metropolis. You wrote a rather nice expose on the corruption in the government Judiciary system last year when you were working for Newsweek. I enjoyed it a great deal." It was the suit-wearing man who had spoken, a small smile decorating his ruddy face.  
  
"What are you talking about? That piece was never printed. Mr. Thornton said that it would never have made it past the government censors."  
  
"You just don't get the same papers as I do, son."  
  
"And you are?"  
  
"Alan Scott, pleased to meet you."  
  
"Alan Scott? The Alan Scott who ran WGBS out of Gotham? The Alan Scott who was executed on charges of treason three years ago?"  
  
"Of all people, Mr. Kent, I think that you would be one of the first to know that you should only believe half of what you see, and none of what you hear. Every man in this room is either 'dead' or 'presumed missing'. That includes you, by the way."  
  
McNider put a hand up, ceasing the chatter.  
  
"We're wasting time. We know why you're here."  
  
"Bliss."  
  
"Yes. Dominic Bliss, one of the most diabolical men ever to curse the Earth with his presence."  
  
"Not a fan, I see."  
  
"Not quite. Now, to business. I presume you boys are here to talk about how we're going to put an end to the good Reverend."  
  
NEXT: Chapter 17: Unified Justice. Green Lantern, the Flash, Doctor Midnight! And, finally, the secret of The Doctor!!!  
  
Preview:  
  
The Doctor's hand gripped the control tighter as he twisted the dial higher.  
  
"I always knew that I should have tried harder, done something more. But then, I guess it was to be expected."  
  
He twisted the dial again and Batman's teeth ground into each other as he tried to he reject the pain.  
  
"Unfortunately, the time for help is past. Now it is time for you to die." 


	17. Unified Justice

Fear the Unknown

By Dante

Chapter 17: Unified Justice

It was an eerie feeling for Barry as he entered the room, staring into the faces of legends. He'd heard stories of these men, cobbled together through bits and pieces of government reports that had been disavowed and hushed up. There was no denying it though, they were in the presence of legends.

"The key," McNider began. "Is with the man you recovered from the Area 51 facility."

The man in desert clothes stood and spoke, hands clasped behind his back.

"We've examined a number of historical records, and come to the conclusion that Dominic Bliss is not from this time. He is from the future."

"Now that's pretty far-fetched, don't you think?" Hal asked.

"As far fetched as a piece of jewelry that conjures whatever your mind can conceive, son?"

Scott chuckled softly in the background.

"Now, to continue. There are sketchy records of Bliss appearing at key junctures in the nation's history dating back to before the Revolution. He orchestrated the deaths of the original leaders of the thirteen colonies and placed his own sympathizers in seats of power within the fledging government. From there, he goes off the radar for about fifty to sixty years at a stretch, turning up every now and then to assasinate someone, influence a war, what have you. Our theory is that history as we know it is not correct. His main goals appears to be, for the most part, the establishment of the religious fascism that governs us and the villification of super-powered beings. It stands to reason that Bliss comes from a history where beings such as ourselves are not considered demons and, most likely, stood against him in some way. He couldn't defeat them there, so he devised a way to eliminate them from existence."

"What about us, then? How are we still here?"

"We're not sure, but Bliss' knowledge appears to have holes in it. He handles history very easily, but its possible that anything that was not part of a public record, he doesn't know. I doubt very much that even in a world where our powers aren't outlawed, that many of us would choose to openly reveal our identities, so without knowing those identities he couldn't eliminate us retroactively."

"This is all pretty wild stuff. Why should we believe you?"

Barry spoke softly. "Believe them. Its true."

They turned on him.

"How do you know?"

"I know. I know that I shouldn't be here. That I should be dead. Whatever that other history is, I'm not in it."

"What are you talking about?" Clark asked.

"Sometimes... when I move fast enough, I can feel things... changing. I can see things as different from what they're supposed to be. Sometimes I see you, Clark. A lot, actually, and its always different. You're older, or younger or sometimes... not a good person. But almost every time I try to see myself... all I see is a grave."

There was a silence in the room. McNider was the first to break it.

"Mr. Allen... whatever other histories might have recorded, you are here and you are alive now. I believe that we are all here for a reason and I also believe we now know that reason. We must somehow undo what Bliss has done and set things right."

"But how?"

"Your friend, the time traveller. He can set things right. And I believe he is right on time."

They all turned around and there, in the doorway, was a shrunken man in hobo's garb who, as they watched, dissolved into a gleaming figure of black and gold.

"What do we do?"

While the others talked and talked and talked, Bruce slipped down one of the corridors and up to the roof. How could they not see? This was too dangerous, all of them gathered here with no defenses, no warnings and Bliss and his men out there.

He was, in fact, so busy watching for signs of Bliss' men that he didn't even notice the perfectly normal-seeming man slipping out of the shadows behind him with a syringe. He plunged it into Bruce's neck and watched as he collapsed.

"Now, my son, you will tell me all you know. Or you will die." There were men on the roof with him and he turned to them. "Take him back to the base and destroy this building, but before you do, make sure you tell my old friend Chaz that I said hello. When you put a bullet through one of those blind eyes of his, make sure he knows that his old friend Thomas hasn't forgotten."


	18. Trapped

Fear the Unknown

By Dante

Chapter 18: Trapped

Barry stared at the flame-haired man standing before them, his gleaming, metallic body plating glimmering in the dim light of the sitting room. They had been sent to find this man, to rescue him, but watching him there before the assembled warriors, he found himself… awed. This man, whoever he was, seemed somehow… elevated, gifted with a sense of purpose that had been denied these other men and women. Barry could only guess at what that aura was, but if he'd had to, his guess would have been "heroism". While Barry looked at him, he found the other man looking back and their eyes locked for a moment.

"This is all so… different. You are all so different, but somehow the same. You are harder, but more muted in a way."

Barry walked over to him, standing just off before addressing the man.

"Then you remember the way that things were?" He asked.

The flame-haired man looked down at the floor. Barry could feel his withdrawal, his pulling away from him. He could sense that there was something that the man was holding back, not telling him.

"Sometimes. My separation from the time stream makes me somewhat immune to being affected by changes to history, but that same connection affects me in different ways. My powers are somewhat lessened, but I can still do what I must to repair what this 'Bliss' has done to the timeline."

"And what has he done?"

"He has made you the villains of this world, where once you were heroes. Once, I stood against a tyrant who had made it his life's goal to destroy you all, to impose the sort of order that Bliss has created here. IT was you, and people like you, who helped me stand against him, who defeated him. If I can make a difference now… well that is all I've ever wanted."

Allen Scott put a hand on the shoulder of the metal-clad hero, his fatherly bearing somehow incongruous in this surreal situation.

"That's an admirable goal, friend. For the most part, that's all the rest of us have ever wanted, save a chance to live our lives in peace."

"I can't promise that, Mr. Scott. From what I remember of the lives you lived before Bliss' interference, peace was not the word that I would most commonly associate with men of your sort. You are destined to bring it, not to live it."

Scott squared his shoulders and turned his face to the other man, speaking firmly.

"Be that as it may, there is something wrong, and I believe it is our duty, whatever history may become, to set it right. Now, can you help us?"

"I believe I can.

Bruce blinked his eyes as he awoke from his drugged stupor, his nose automatically wrinkling at the heavy smell of disinfectant tinged by something else... something burned. As he looked around, he tried to assess the room he was in, check it for escape routes, guards, anything that might indicate for what purpose he'd been brought there. Ultimately, his efforts proved to be in waste, as what seemed to be a sheer wall slid open and revealed the gray-coated figure of Dr. Thomas Wayne.

"I should have known it would come to this." He said as he glided aross the room. The doctor had his hands clasped behind his back and his piercing eyes looked out from behind horn-rimmed spectacles at the figure of his imprisoned son. "You could never accept things as they were. Could never understand that some sacrifices must be made for a greater good."

"I guess I just don't have the cold blooded detachment necessary for murder, father."

"Murder is such a harsh term, Bruce. Can't you see? These... things that we strive to rid the world of, are not natural. They are abominations, crimes against God himself."

"And the Themyscrians, what of them?"

"They held themselves in isolation on their 'sacred' island worshipping their pagan gods and did nothing for the rest of the world. Of all we have cleansed, they are my proudest achievement."

"So then you don't mind having spent your life as Bliss' croney, doing his dirty work while he sits back and laughs at the world he's corrupted?"

"He hasn't corrupted anything, Bruce. He has brought justice to the world."

"My ass." A hand flew across his face, whipping his head sideways. When his vision cleared, he saw Thomas straightening his glasses on his face.

"You always did have a little too much of your mother in you. Too emotional, too caring. Such a pity."

"How about we dispense with the family reunion facade and get on with this. What is it you want, doctor?"

"What I want is very simple. I want to know what your friends are planning. I want to know how you found them all. I want to know who helped them. And, most importantly, you're going to tell me how to kill them."

The time traveler, he'd told them to call him Matt, had a very simple plan. He would take them back in time to the points in history where Bliss had altered history and they would set them right. They would have to start at the most recent, or it was possible that he would remember their attempts from previous time periods and be able to somehow pre-empt them. Barry sat on the roof of Charles McNider's town home and played one of his favorite games. He tossed a coin into the air and snatched it back with the same hand. It was, of course, occurring faster than the human eye could follow, but it somehow soothed him. It was almost normal.

He mulled it over in his head. Matt hadn't said anything, but when he'd looked at him, he could see it in his eyes. He was not supposed to be there. Those visions he'd had were true. In the timeline that had existed before Bliss had changed everything, he was dead. There was really no way to say _how_ he'd died, but he was most definitely dead. Knowing that, how was he going to go through with this? If they changed the timeline, didn't it stand to reason that everything would go back to the way it was? He would be dead again and who knew what else would change? Could he really do it?


	19. Liftoff

Fear the Unknown

By Dante

Chapter 19: Liftoff

The beginning of the plan was simple. In nineteen eighty seven, Bliss had orchestrated the death of one of the nation's premier journalists when it looked as if she was about to uncover some of his more unsavory exploits and reveal his connection to the nation's government. According to some of this informal society's sources inside the media establishment, it was rumored that Bliss' target reporter was highly sympathetic to the cause of legalizing super-human activity. At that point in the eighties, after decades of war, some of the adventures of renegade, self-proclaimed heroes such as the late Ted Kord and gym-teacher turned street justice dealer Guy Gardner had certain factions in the public remembering their grandparents' stories of superhuman soldiers who had saved America from destruction in the great wars and subsequently calling for an end to the crippling restrictions laid on them by the government and its religious overlords. The reporter, one Lois Lane, had been poised to become the voice of those people. They were going to go back and prevent Bliss from silencing one of the first great voices of the people to come along in nearly half a century.

"So," Clark started. "How do we do this?"

Matthew stood from the wing-backed chair he'd been sitting in, his long-tattered robe fluttering in the light breeze that wafted through the room.

"It's very simple, actually. You may actually remember the moment that we are going to visit. In 1987, it had become obvious even to the ultra-conservative elements within this society that extra-terrestrial exploration was going to be a necessity in order for humanity to survive. Hence, one of the major turning points in history, or at least its impetus, was preserved in this time line. The space plane launched that year was not supposed to crash with all hands aboard. In the timeline, before Bliss's alterations, the rescue of that plane and its crew, including one Lois Lane, was the launching point not only for the next wave of space exploration, but for the career of the super-hero who would set the standard for his entire generation."

His glittering eyes fixed their gaze on Clark.

"You, Mr. Kent."

Clark's eyes widened.

"Me? But I was there, I saw that plane crash. I..."

"Couldn't do anything for fear that the population would turn on both you and the crew of the space plane, having been tainted by a demon's touch. I know. I watched you. I'm sending you back alone, Mr. Kent. You must find your younger self and convince him to save that plane."

"But I…"

Clark never finished his argument. In an explosion of images and sounds, he felt a horrible falling sensation and suddenly… there he was.

He was standing some several hundred feet beyond the main mass of the crowed gathered to watch the shuttle's landing. Like a grown man watching a kindergarten concert tape, his eyes fixed instantly on a single shape standing several inches above most in the crowd. The man's stance was sunken, as if he were in a museum looking at a great work of art that he could, but never would, replicate. A look that can only belong to a man meant to fly, but trapped on the ground.

Gently, Clark made his way through the crowd. The other was still standing there, his eyes locked on the sky, watching as the fiery light of the space plane moved closer and closer to the crowd. Clark knew that his hearing was already detecting the sound of an air traffic controller trying to wave off the small civilian plane that was nearing this restricted airspace. The other was trying, he knew, to decide, even though the choice had already been made in his head. Take to the skies? He knew he could. Save the people aboard that ship? But why, when they'd only be handed over to the questioners of the government?

Softly, at a volume audible to no human ear, Clark whispered.

"Listen to me, Clark. There is only one thing you need to know. 'All that is necessary for evil to flourish is for good men to do nothing. There are people who need your help. Fear gains a man nothing."

As he spoke, the space plane had come even closer, and visible now was the small aircraft, the pilot paid off by Dominick Bliss, careening toward the graceful spacecraft with death its sole purpose.

The crowd gasped as the civilian plane collided with the space plane, impaling itself on the port wing. Flames shot from both vehicles, and screams went up all around as they began to plummet toward the ground.

"Go now, Clark." He murmured. "You can do it."

There was a single beat of time, and then he could feel it. Deep within his very soul, something was shifting. He watched as the world around him seemed to warp, though it was in reality his own self, his existence, which was changing.

Clark Kent, a man just barely out of Smallville and with so much to learn about the world, set his jaw and rocketed into the sky. He dug his hands into the fuselage of the plane, his fingers cutting deep swaths in its hull as he struggled to stop its downward plummet.

Far below, an older, more wizened Clark Kent watched as his past shifted within his head. He saw a first meeting that was to take place in mere seconds. He saw a first kiss to take place in months. He saw a love that would blossom in the coming years. He saw hope.

Once again, colors began to swirl around him and he felt himself being yanked out of time to wherever Matthew Ryder needed him next. Wherever it was, whatever the job, it would be a job for Superman.

ELSEWHEN

Bruce's eyes stung as the mixture of salts from his blood, sweat, and tears streamed through them. He considered himself a strong man, but Dr. Thomas Wayne was a professional, and he applied himself to his work with the same relentless aggression that his son applied to his, in this and every other life.

"Your resistance is amazing, Bruce, but you will break, you have to know that. Everyone breaks sooner or later and you are, after all, just human."

"They'll stop you." Bruce croaked.

"Oh my boy," The Doctor said with a smile. "How terribly trite and unoriginal. I knew that I should have selected a religious academy for your education and not one of those dreadful private institutions. I suppose that I hoped your faith would be all the stronger for having been arrived at through independent conclusions. I see I was sadly mistaken. But don't worry, my son. I can and will rectify your crisis of faith."

"And how do you intend to do that."

"Because you will be meeting God very soon, Bruce."


End file.
